


Wild

by notionally



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: (or at least attempted comedy), Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Alternate Universe - Popstar, Comedy, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Friends to Lovers, Humor, M/M, Manager Yuta, Popstar Taeyong, Strangers to Lovers, Taeyong is lowkey a brat but in a cute way, minor/side ships sprinkled about
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-05-20 19:26:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19383211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notionally/pseuds/notionally
Summary: Taeyong is a bratty popstar who can’t stay out of trouble. Johnny and Ten are his rich kid best friends who are not so much a bad influence as a chaotic one. And Doyoung is his long-suffering manager who just wants someone to help keep Taeyong under control.Enter: Nakamoto Yuta.





	Wild

 

 

 

It's not like Taeyong's an actual bad boy or anything. He doesn't do drugs. He doesn't trash hotel rooms. Hell, he doesn't even have a tattoo! (Though that's more for 'low pain threshold' reasons than anything else.)

The point is, he doesn't deserve this. He's not a child. He doesn't need — doesn't need whatever _this_ is. A glorified babysitter, is what it is.

When he says this to Johnny and Ten, over plates laden with lavishly decorated cakes and skinny flutes of champagne, they laugh. The sound tinkles, effervescent like the bubbles in their drinks.

"Thanks for the support," Taeyong says humourlessly. He tips his half-empty glass of champagne back, goes to top it up only for the bottle to spit out a pathetic dribble of bubbly. Taeyong glowers at the empty bottle. "Just my luck."

"Don't be precious," Ten says. He twirls one elegant hand in the air, and a waiter immediately materialises by their side. Ten smiles coquettishly at him. "Another bottle, darling, if you please."

When the waiter leaves, Taeyong rolls his eyes. "Don't call him darling," he says. "It's rude."

Ten pouts exaggeratedly. "How is it rude?"

"It's demeaning," Taeyong replies. But quickly shakes his head. Doesn't matter. Ten was born into a rich family, lives life now as a socialite, will probably never need to work a day in his life. No point trying to explain it. Taeyong snaps his fingers twice in front of Johnny and Ten's faces. "We were talking about my predicament, remember?"

Johnny raises an eyebrow. "It's barely a predicament," he points out, unhelpfully. "What's wrong with having one more manager? You already have, what — four?"

"Two," shoots back Taeyong. Johnny loves exaggerating the excesses of his life as a popstar, as if to normalise the actually ridiculous magnitude of wealth he and Ten enjoy. But Taeyong's nowhere near as rich as them, nor does he have any particular desire to be. Not to mention the fact that he actually has to work for his money. 

But that's all beside the point. The point is that this new manager is _different._  

"He's being brought in specifically to control me — not to manage my schedules or my career. Just to keep me on a leash. That's outrageous."

Ten smirks. "Between you and me, I think the leash is pretty vanilla."

Taeyong kicks at Ten under the table. "Not that kind of outrageous," he snaps, "and how many times do I have to tell you, I do _not_ want to know what you and Johnny do in the bedroom."

"It would be more outrageous if you weren't who you are," Johnny says, calmly ignoring Ten's innuendo and Taeyong's outrage. 

Taeyong redirects his righteous indignation. "I'm a good boy," he cries out.

"Bit of a brat," Ten stage-whispers. 

"You're the brat."

"I accept that but so are you."

Johnny sighs heavily. "Children, please."

Ten giggles and rests his chin in his hands as he flutters his lashes up at Johnny. "Yes, daddy."

"Stop that!" Taeyong kicks Ten under the table again.

"Stop kicking me!"

"You're both proving the point right now," Johnny says. He gestures to Ten and Taeyong like he's presenting them to an imaginary audience. "Brats."

Taeyong slaps Johnny's hand away. "I'm not nearly as spoilt as your boyfriend."

Johnny raises an eyebrow. "You made Doyoung book you a new hotel because the one he picked used _only_ eight-hundred threadcount sheets."

"I have soft skin," Taeyong whines, "those sheets were scratchy."

"What's your excuse for those pouting photos of you at the airport?"

Taeyong glares at Ten. The infamous pictures had been as good for his fame as they were bad for his reputation. Twitter had been flooded with people wanting to know who the 'handsome, bratty popstar' was.

"You know the story," Taeyong says darkly.

"Yes, we do," Ten sing-songs back. "And I must say, it's very on brand for a bratty popstar to throw a tantrum because his manager wouldn't let him stop at duty-free to shop."

Taeyong scowls. "Wasn't a tantrum," he grumbles under his breath, even though he knows full well that it was. He had ignored Doyoung for three days after that. That may even have been the catalyst for this whole 'new manager' business. If anything, he's surprised that it's taken Doyoung this long to finally crack.

"If I'm really as bad as you say," Taeyong points out, "what makes anyone think this new kid is going to have any more luck controlling me?"

"Oh I don't know," Johnny says, grinning in that characteristically Johnny way, like he's sharing a secret with himself, "if I know anything about Doie, it's that he probably has an ace up his sleeve."

Taeyong scrunches up his face. "An ace, apparently," he says, "by the name of Nakamoto Yuta."

  


 

* * *

 

  


No one mentions anything more about the new manager for the next week, and Taeyong's almost inclined to let himself pretend that the whole thing was just a very vivid fever dream he'd had. In the end, though, curiosity wins out, and he manages to wrangle more information out of his second manager, and Doyoung's long-suffering assistant, Sicheng.

Like the fact that Nakamoto Yuta is from Osaka. Or that he's also a freelance choreographer for Taeyong's company, amongst others (though he's being asked to work exclusively for Taeyong's company once he starts the manager job). Or the fact that Sicheng is the one responsible for Taeyong's nightmare.

"I can't believe you suggested him for the job!" Taeyong cried out when he heard, clutching both hands to his heart with the shock of the betrayal.

Sicheng just shrugged and said, "We went to the same international high school in Seoul," as if that was any explanation for why he'd produced this menace to ruin Taeyong's life. (This tendency to exaggeration is perhaps part of Taeyong's brattiness, though you'd never catch him admitting to it.)

In any case, he gets enough information to do some thorough internet digging, and Taeyong has to grudgingly concede that Nakamoto Yuta is annoyingly handsome. Big eyes, a chiseled jawline, and a pretty smile — just Taeyong's type. Thankfully, he also looks like a classic sunshiney nice guy. Which means Taeyong should have no problem getting his way. If he can annoy even grumpy Doyoung into compliance, this constantly-smiling newbie should be no problem.

He's just about getting to a state of reluctant acceptance of his fate, when the worst thing happens.

Taeyong's just finished the final recording session for his new album. He heads home feeling really pleased with how things are progressing, but when he opens the door to his flat, he sees Doyoung and Sicheng standing in his living room. Along with Nakamoto Yuta.

And three large suitcases.

Taeyong freezes in the hallway. Three pairs of eyes turn to stare at him. "What is going on?"

Doyoung gestures at Nakamoto Yuta. "This is Nakamoto Yuta," he says. Nakamoto Yuta beams at him. Taeyong bites down the urge to scream.

"You must be Taeyong," Nakamoto Yuta says. He extends a hand for Taeyong to shake. "I'm Yuta. It's very nice to meet you."

Taeyong stares at his outstretched hand for a long pause, then turns to Doyoung. Yuta pulls his hand back, his smile not faltering even in the slightest. 

"What is he doing here?" 

"He's your new manager," Doyoung replies, as if that explains why Yuta is standing in his living room, surrounded by three huge suitcases. It doesn't. But Doyoung is just smiling beatifically at him, and dread floods Taeyong's veins.

"No," he says, "no, no, no. Absolutely not. Are you fucking kidding me? No."

"The company thinks it would be good for you to have someone looking after you more closely," Doyoung says, looking so smug that Taeyong suspects this was all Doyoung's idea in the first place. Some sick plan to torture him. "Twenty-four hour pastoral care!"

"More like twenty-four hour surveillance!" Taeyong screeches. He glares fiercely at Yuta, who's still grinning at him from ear to ear. It's unnerving, and Taeyong quickly looks away, gesturing wildly at Doyoung. "This is inhumane!"

Doyoung just pats Taeyong on the shoulder patronisingly. "There, there," he says flatly. "Come on Sicheng, let's go."

Sicheng waves at Yuta. "Bye hyung."

"Hyung?" Taeyong scowls at this expression of familiarity. Sicheng ignores him. 

Doyoung looks between Taeyong and Yuta. "Be nice to each other, kids." Even though Taeyong's pretty sure Doyoung is younger than both of them. He stares pleadingly at Doyoung and Sicheng's retreating backs, silently begging them not to leave him alone with this person — who's probably a monster, because who can remain so cheery in the face of someone being so vehemently disgusted by your presence and so vocal about it?

When the door slams shut with finality, Taeyong turns back to Yuta. Who is, of course, still smiling at him.

"Hi," he says brightly, "I guess I'm your new roommate!"

Taeyong storms into his room and slams the door shut.

  


 

* * *

 

  


Taeyong does his best to continue living his life as if Yuta doesn’t exist, but it’s difficult. Because Yuta is _always there._ When Taeyong wakes up, there Yuta is, sitting on the sofa watching some inane Japanese variety shows that Taeyong can’t understand. When Taeyong goes for his schedules, there Yuta is, standing behind the cameras grinning cheerily at Taeyong. And when Taeyong tries to go clubbing, _there Yuta fucking is,_ insisting on driving him to the club and picking him up after. As if Taeyong is a child being ferried to and from kindergarten. Taeyong still goes clubbing the first few times, but knowing that Yuta is waiting outside for him in the company van really sucks all the fun out of it, and it doesn’t take long before Taeyong stops going partying with Johnny and Ten altogether.

It’s maybe not the worst timing in the world, Taeyong has to concede, given that comeback preparations are ramping up. Not being hungover three days a week has really done wonders for his level of exhaustion — not that Taeyong would ever admit that to Yuta. Or to Doyoung, for that matter.

He does begrudgingly mention it to Jungwoo, who comments that the dark circles beneath his eyes are much lighter than they usually are. “This is going to save me hundreds of dollars on concealer,” Jungwoo says, dabbing enthusiastically at Taeyong’s under-eyes.

“I’m glad _someone_ is benefiting from Yuta’s presence,” Taeyong says darkly. He glowers across the room at where Yuta is standing next to Sicheng, the two of them with their heads bowed, laughing about something. Just seeing Yuta happy makes Taeyong seethe with annoyance.

Jungwoo tuts at Taeyong as he sets the concealer down. “You’re being dramatic,” he says, “I’ve spoken to Yuta. He seems nice.”

“Yes, well — you don’t have to live with him.”

“Is he difficult to live with?”

Taeyong hesitates. He glances over at Yuta again, who’s now talking to one of the stylists. He says something and she bursts out in giggles. The fact that everyone seems to love Yuta only makes Taeyong’s frustration worse.

“It’s not that he’s difficult to live with,” Taeyong says, because it’s true. Yuta’s a little messy, but he keeps his mess to his own room — which once upon a time used to be Taeyong’s spare bedroom — and he’s generally quiet and unobtrusive. But he’s just — _there._ All the damn time. “I just don’t want to live with him.”

“He probably doesn’t want to live with you either.”

Taeyong tilts his chin up to gape at Jungwoo in indignation. Jungwoo taps on his temple with the back of his brush to get Taeyong to look ahead and stop moving. Taeyong complies, but makes sure to pout exaggeratedly as he does so. “Are you suggesting I’m difficult to live with?”

“I’m just saying — you’re basically his job, and having to live with you means he’s working, twenty four-seven. It can’t be easy.”

“He doesn’t seem to mind,” Taeyong says. “He’s always so bloody — happy.” Which is a big part of the problem. Riling people up is half of the fun of being a renowned brat, but Yuta is utterly unflappable. He responds to all of Taeyong’s unreasonable behaviour with nothing more than an indulgent smile. Like a parent to a petulant child. It drives Taeyong absolutely batshit crazy.

Jungwoo raises an eyebrow as he leans back, appraises his work on Taeyong’s face. “Isn’t that good for you? If you just have someone to boss around?”

“Except I don’t get to boss him around,” Taeyong complains. “He doesn’t do _anything_ for me. He’s literally the worst manager I’ve ever had. Even Doyoung would do stuff for me, even if he complained about it non-stop.”

Jungwoo chuckles, even though Taeyong can’t see what’s so funny, and turns back to the counter to inspect his array of blushers. The fact that Jungwoo seems to think this is all a big joke makes the frustration mount inside Taeyong.

“No, seriously, he’s the worst — look, I’ll show you.” Taeyong clears his throat. Jungwoo looks up in amusement. “Oi, Yuta!”

Yuta turns. Doyoung, who he had been talking to, narrows his eyes at Taeyong. But Yuta just beams at him like there’s nothing in the world that would make him happier than to hear Taeyong’s voice. “Yes, Taeyong?” he calls out, voice carrying across the room like a song.

Taeyong shoots him an exaggerated smile. “I’m thirsty,” he shouts. “Get me some water.”

“I would love to,” Yuta replies, still grinning, “but what’s the magic word?”

“I’m not a fucking child — just get me some water.”

“No magic word, no water!”

Jungwoo snorts out a laugh. “I think he wants you to say ‘please’,” he whispers loudly to Taeyong.

“I know that,” Taeyong hisses back. His cheeks feel hot. “But I’m not going to say it. He’s just being difficult on purpose.”

“Seems to me like you’re the one being difficult on purpose.”

“I am _not!”_

Yuta’s perched himself on the armrest of the sofa. “Still waiting for the magic word,” he sing-songs.

By this point, Doyoung’s almost doubled over with laughter. Even Sicheng’s cracked a wry smile, and all of the other staff members are hiding behind hands and clipboards, trying to pretend they’re not giggling. Taeyong scowls at his own reflection in the mirror. “Never mind,” he shouts. “Not thirsty anymore!”

Jungwoo meets Taeyong’s gaze in the mirror. “You know — you’re wrong,” he says.

Taeyong’s scowl deepens. “Wrong about what?”

Jungwoo just smiles serenely. “He’s not the worst manager you’ve had. If anything, he’s the best.”

  


 

* * *

 

  


 

It takes a few weeks before Taeyong manages to wrangle a night out without Yuta as his chaperone, and even then only because it’s a closed party thrown by Johnny and Ten to celebrate their third anniversary dating. Most couples don’t host a club night to celebrate relationship milestones, but then again, Johnny and Ten aren’t most couples.

So Taeyong puts on his skinniest skinny jeans and a silky top unbuttoned to show off his collarbone, and smudges eyeliner around his eyes. Jaehyun’s going to be at the party, and Taeyong hasn’t had sex since Yuta’s come into the picture — it’s hard to get laid when your manager is sticking to you twenty-four seven. Taeyong’s going to put an end to his dry spell tonight. He knows for a fact that Jaehyun’s always up for a good time.

When he steps out of his room, Yuta looks up from the television and his Japanese variety show. His eyes flick up and down, before he smiles and says, “You look good.”

Taeyong clears his throat in discomfort. This isn’t quite the relationship he’s used to having with Yuta. He can’t think of anything rude to say in response to a simple compliment like that.

“Uh,” is what he mumbles out instead, “thanks.” He sits down on the sofa, as far away from Yuta as he can manage without just perching on the armrest. There’s a middle-aged woman on the screen, beating eggs in a bowl very energetically. She’s speaking in rapidfire Japanese, and all Taeyong can pick up is the odd word here and there. He furrows his brow at the screen. “Why are you watching a cooking show?”

“It’s comforting,” Yuta replies. “I miss Japanese food.”

“You can get Japanese food here, too, you know.”

Yuta chuckles. “Yeah, but it’s not the same. I miss home-cooked Japanese food.”

Taeyong glances at the kitchen, which hasn’t been properly used in a while. He’s too busy to spend much time cooking, as much as he does enjoy it, and Yuta -- for whatever reason — doesn’t cook at all.

“You can use the kitchen, if you want,” Taeyong says. He wonders if Yuta feels like he can’t, like he isn’t allowed to. Taeyong may not like having Yuta here, but he’s not an asshole. He’s not going to deprive someone of home-cooked food just because he’s still bitter that his own company thinks he can’t be trusted.

Yuta shakes his head and shrugs. “I can’t cook to save my life,” he says. “Although, maybe if I watched more cooking shows I would figure it out.”

Taeyong looks back at the screen. “She’s making oyako-don. That’s not difficult.”

“You don’t know just how bad at cooking I am.”

“Yeah, fair.” Taeyong leans back into the sofa. His fingers drum a rhythm against his phone, which is balanced on one knee. He wishes he understood what the woman on screen was saying. Whatever it is, she looks absolutely delighted. 

“Don’t you have a party to go to?”

Taeyong turns, and realises Yuta is looking at him curiously. He supposes it’s a little weird, the two of them just sitting down and having a conversation. Like they’re actually roommates, and not a bratty popstar and his frustratingly ever-present manager. Taeyong hasn’t had a roommate in years, not since he was still a trainee.

“I’m waiting for Johnny and Ten to come pick me up.” He presses the home button on his phone, and the screen lights up. It’s twelve minutes past the time they said they’d arrive. This doesn’t surprise Taeyong at all. “They should be here soon.”

Yuta smiles. He has a nice smile, Taeyong thinks. Even if it’s annoying how he manages to smile at anything and everything. But Taeyong doesn’t doubt for a second that his smiles are genuine. 

He hesitates, wondering if he should tell Yuta that he’s planning on bringing someone home. Just out of politeness for his roommate, because that’s what Yuta is, no matter how much Taeyong tries to pretend he’s not there. Taeyong’s trying to figure out how weird it would be to bring it up without prelude or warning, when his phone starts vibrating on his knee. Taeyong jumps so vigorously in surprise that his phone clatters to the floor.

“It’s Ten,” he says, snatching the phone up and staring at the screen. Yuta’s looking at him with an expression of faint amusement. Taeyong rejects the call and shoves his phone into his back pocket. “I should go.”

Yuta nods and makes a shooing motion with his hands. “Have fun,” he says, grinning like a proud mother, “stay safe! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

Taeyong rolls his eyes. “I refuse to promise that,” he calls out as he grabs his jacket off the coat stand and whirls through the front door. “Don’t wait up!” 

He catches the sound of Yuta laughing, just before the door slams shut. 

  


 

* * *

 

  


Taeyong’s brought Jaehyun home with him a handful of times now. Not once in all of those times has he woken up to find his bed empty. What usually happens is this: Jaehyun wakes up with hangover munchies. He wanders around the kitchen in search of food, and when all he can find is an assortment of sugary cereals, to eat he crawls back into bed with Taeyong and annoys him into making breakfast.

So when Taeyong opens his eyes to soft sunlight filtering in past his curtains, and no Jaehyun hovering eagerly over him like an oversized puppy, it takes him only a moment before he realises something’s definitely not right.

“Ah, fuck,” he mutters to himself, getting tangled up in the sheets in his haste to get out of bed. He picks his boxers up off the floor, catching sight of himself in the mirror as he does so. There’s a constellation of hickeys lining his collarbone. “Great, just great—”

Taeyong had warned neither Yuta nor Jaehyun about the other, because he’s an idiot who apparently thinks with his dick and not his brain. Ideally, he’ll be able to make sure Jaehyun and Yuta don’t meet. But he’ll settle for intercepting Yuta before he flips out and calls Doyoung.

Taeyong dresses haphazardly, stumbling out of his bedroom and smoothing down his hair as best he can as he does so. That’s when he hears the faint strains of laughter coming from the kitchen. He rounds the corner at the end of the corridor in a mild panic, only to see Jaehyun sitting at the kitchen island, digging into a heaping plate of pancakes. Standing across from him, popping strawberries into his mouth and laughing along with Jaehyun like they’re old friends, is Yuta.

“Oh, you’re up,” Yuta says cheerily, when he spots Taeyong. “Good morning.”

Jaehyun turns, beaming with as much unbridled delight as Yuta. “Yongie! Come have pancakes!”

“What the hell?” Taeyong stands next to Jaehyun and stares at the breakfast feast laid out across the kitchen island. Pancakes, an assortment of fruits, mini croissants, and Jaehyun’s also sipping at a vividly green smoothie. Taeyong gapes at Yuta. “Did you make this?”

Yuta snorts. “Hell no, I can’t cook,” he says, which doesn’t explain where all the food has come from.

Jaehyun, thankfully, helps Taeyong out. “I said I was hungry so Yuta hyung went out to get breakfast,” he says, smiling at Taeyong and then at Yuta. “Except he went way overboard.”

“Yuta _hyung?”_ That seems a little intimate for people who have just met. “Do you guys know each other?”

“Only from two hours ago, when I walked out of my room and Jaehyunnie was rummaging through the kitchen cupboards in his boxers.”

Taeyong makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat. _“Jaehyunnie?”_

Both Jaehyun and Yuta ignore him. “You didn’t tell me your new manager was so nice,” Jaehyun says, and he finishes off this statement with a playful slap of Yuta’s arm. It makes Taeyong want to scream. Or maybe go lie down, because this is all too much for his hungover brain to handle.

He stares between Jaehyun and Yuta. “I’m going to take a shower,” he says. Because avoidance is always the best strategy.

  


 

* * *

 

  


 

“And now he’s _friends_ with Jaehyun. Like, they text and stuff.”

Taeyong’s at brunch with Johnny and Ten, a week after the bizarre meeting between Yuta and Jaehyun, and things have only gotten weirder. Jaehyun keeps texting him to gush about how great Yuta is, and how they should all hang out together. Taeyong and Jaehyun don’t even hang out together sober! What the fuck is going on?

When he says this, Johnny laughs and Ten rolls his eyes. “Don’t be such a drama queen,” Ten says, delicately popping a mini macaron into his mouth whole. “Jaehyun’s friendly, and Yuta sounds friendly too. It’s not that surprising that they’d hit it off.”

“It’s still _weird,”_ grumbles Taeyong. “My manager can’t be friends with my fuck buddy. That’s weird.”

Johnny shrugs. “Maybe that was his plan.”

“Regardless — he’s ruined this now because I can’t ever sleep with Jaehyun again,” Taeyong declares with despondent finality. “Where am I going to find dick as good ever again?”

“I have other model friends.”

“None as pretty as Jaehyunnie, though.”

Ten hums thoughtfully. “What about Lucas? Lucas is pretty.”

“Huh, yeah, I guess you’re right.”

Taeyong groans and buries his face in his hands. “Why do I even bother coming to you guys for advice?”

“Because Taeil hyung is too busy for you,” Johnny replies, at the same time Ten says, “technically, you haven’t asked for any advice.”

Taeyong makes a mental note to make more of an effort to see Taeil, if it means having to spend less time in the aggravating presence of Johnny and Ten. In the meantime, though, he might as well try and get something somewhat sensible out of them.

“The advice I need is the same advice I needed last time,” he says, “what the hell do I do about this Yuta situation?”

“Would we call this a situation?” Ten looks unconvinced. “It’s barely an incident. A mere blip on the radar.”

“Can you please focus!”

Ten rolls his eyes so exaggeratedly it involves a throwing back of entire head. “My point is,” he says, gesturing at Taeyong with his champagne flute, “that you’re making a big deal out of nothing. Yuta’s not doing anything to you. If you’d just get over yourself, you’d see that.”

Johnny nods sagely. “He’s right.”

“He is not,” objects Taeyong. “You’re just siding with your boyfriend. Yuta is objectively annoying.”

“Fine. List five things he does that are objectively annoying.”

Taeyong glares at Ten. But a challenge has been issued and Taeyong isn’t one to back down from a challenge. He clears his throat and holds out his thumb to begin the count. “One,” he says primly, “he’s always around. Like literally. Won’t leave me alone. Wherever I want to go, he insists on coming along.”

“Sounds like he’s just doing his job.”

“Does he try to talk to you or intrude on your life when he follows you around?”

Taeyong scrunches up his face. “No, I guess not.” He sighs. “Okay, fine. That one doesn’t count. But, oh — he keeps watching these Japanese variety shows at home.”

“Does he do that when you want to watch something else?”

“No, I don’t really watch TV.”

“Does he watch it really loudly? Or really late at night?”

“No, he has the volume down really low and he only watches during the day.”

Johnny smirks, and Taeyong groans. He’s still trying to find his first valid, objectively annoying, complaint about Yuta. “How about the fact that he’s friends with like, _everyone,”_ he suggests. “Jaehyun, for one. But he’s also like, best friends with Sicheng, and Jungwoo likes him — hell, even Doyoung likes him.”

Ten gives Taeyong a scathing look. “And that’s annoying, _how?”_

“I don’t know! He’s just annoying, okay?”

“I think you’re just obsessed with him.”

“I am _not_ obsessed with him.”

“Then why can’t you stop talking about him?”

“Because!” Taeyong huffs in exasperation and folds his arms across his chest. “He’s annoying.”

Johnny beams like he’s proud of Ten for having backed Taeyong into a corner. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re jealous.”

“What? I don’t even — I don’t like him that way — what?”

“I don’t mean in a romantic way,” Johnny clarifies, “I meant jealous of how well he gets along with everyone. You were determined to hate him, and you wanted everyone to do the same, but they’re not, and it feels like they’re taking his side, so you’re jealous.”

“Right. Uh, maybe.” It certainly makes sense, even if Taeyong doesn’t want to admit it. He definitely resents how quickly and easily Yuta’s manage to sweep everyone up in his charm. 

Johnny perches his chin in his hands and peers across the table at Taeyong. “What’s interesting, though,” he says, looking unbearably pleased with himself, “is how quickly you thought I was talking about you being _romantically_ jealous.”

Taeyong glares at Johnny, and knocks the rest of his champagne back.

  


 

* * *

 

  


The worst thing about this whole situation is that Johnny’s sort of right. Taeyong doesn’t actually hate Yuta, despite what he claims to Doyoung and everyone else — it’s hard to hate Yuta, when he’s so fucking _pleasant_ all the time. The only thing Taeyong can complain about is that there’s nothing to complain about, which is a really bratty thing to dislike someone for, even Taeyong has enough self-awareness to recognise that. 

Maybe there’s something to be said about not wasting huge amounts of energy trying to hate someone who seems absolutely impossible to hate. It seems like Yuta is here to stay, and Taeyong might as well make his peace with the situation, less-than-ideal though it may be.

It’s with this renewed sense of perspective that Taeyong decides to head back a little earlier than usual from dance practice. Maybe he can join Yuta watching some of his variety shows. Perhaps even get Yuta to teach him a few more words of Japanese.

When he opens the door to his flat, he sees Yuta sitting at the kitchen island, assembling what appears to be a nacho sandwich — which is a generous descriptor for a handful of nacho chips slathered in cheese and squashed between two slices of bread.

“What are you doing?” Taeyong didn’t mean for his words to come out so accusatory, but he’s horrified by the sight of the culinary travesty on Yuta’s plate.

Yuta looks surprised to see him, but recovers quickly. “I’m making dinner,” he says.

“That’s not dinner.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s glorified cinema food!” Taeyong cries out. “You can’t eat that for dinner.”

“Hasn’t stopped me before.”

Taeyong snatches the plate away from Yuta and sets it down next to the sink. “That’s really unhealthy.”

Yuta gets to his feet, looking a little put-out. “I told you I can’t cook,” he complains. “Will you let me be?”

“Why can’t you get take-out or something?”

“Every night? That’s expensive.” Yuta folds his arms across his chest. “Not to mention, unhealthy.”

Taeyong gestures at the nacho chip mess on the plate and makes a strangled cry of despair. “Like that’s not unhealthy?”

“What do you have against me eating unhealthy food?” Yuta frowns at Taeyong. “You’re being very odd.”

“Nothing, I just — I refuse to let anyone in my house consume something so utterly horrifying,” Taeyong declares. Yuta mutters something that sounds like, ‘it’s not horrifying’, but Taeyong can’t really hear him and so he ignores it. He also ignores the part of the brain that is telling him to just let this go. “Come on — get your jacket.”

Yuta blinks. “What?”

Taeyong rolls his eyes. “I’ll make dinner,” he says, like it should be obvious, even though he knows perfectly well that he hasn’t explained himself, “but we don’t have any food. You have to come to the supermarket with me.”

“You’ll make dinner?” Yuta looks shell-shocked. “For me?”

“For both of us,” corrects Taeyong. He’s not doing Yuta a favour or anything. He just needs to eat and it’s no hassle making an extra portion. “Now will you stop gaping at me, and get your coat? Also, you’re driving.”

Yuta hesitates for the briefest of moments, then a brilliant grin breaks out across his face. He doesn’t stop smiling for a second the entire journey to the supermarket. Taeyong suggests they have oyako-don for dinner, and he didn’t think it possible, but Yuta’s smile gets even wider as he nods enthusiastically.

“You’re nice,” Yuta says, suddenly, as he pushes the shopping trolley down the produce aisle behind Taeyong. It makes Taeyong stop in his tracks, and turn around in surprise. Yuta scrunches up his nose. “You’re much nicer than you pretend to be.”

“Don’t ever say that again,” Taeyong replies flatly. He turns and continues striding purposefully down the aisle. “You’ll ruin my reputation.”

Yuta just hums a breezy 'mmhmm' and then he's leaning his weight into the trolley and zooming off down the aisles like a child in a toy store. "I'm going to check if have this seaweed snack thing!" he calls out as he swerves left at the end of the aisle and disappears from view. 

Taeyong finds himself smiling before he catches himself.

  


 

* * *

 

  


The thing about Taeyong is that, no matter how much of a spoilt brat he can be, he's first and foremost wholly dedicated to his art. Which means that as comeback season approaches, he starts spending longer and longer hours in the vocal practice rooms or the dance studio. Doyoung always scolds him for it, but Doyoung's never had any power over Taeyong.

That was before. Now, there's Yuta.

The clock on the wall of the dance studio reads half past midnight. Taeyong is exhausted, but he'll be even more exhausted during promotions, and he wants to drill the routine into his muscles, until he can do it without thinking.

The door to the studio opens. Taeyong pauses for the briefest of moments, eyes flicking across the room to see Yuta poking his head through. 

"What are you doing here?" Taeyong doesn't stop his routine, gaze focusing back on his reflection in the mirror. The music thumps through the speakers.

Yuta shuts the door behind him. "I've come to bring you home."

"I'm not done with practice." 

"You are now." Yuta walks over to the small sound booth tucked into the corner of the room and switches the music off. Taeyong stops mid-move and turns to glare at him. Yuta looks unapologetic. "You've been here all day."

Taeyong decides he might as well take a break, so he snatches up his towel from where it's lying on top of his gym bag in a heap, and wipes roughly at the sweat dripping down his neck. "I thought you'd be happy I'm here instead of out partying."

Yuta looks oddly upset by this statement. "It's my job to look after your health, too."

"Is that why you're here? Because it's your job?" Taeyong takes a swig from his water bottle and raises an eyebrow at Yuta. "Did Doyoung tell you to come get me?"

"No, and no." Yuta shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "Am I not allowed to care about you? As a friend?"

Taeyong finishes off the water in his bottle and chucks it back in his bag. _Friend._ "Huh," he says, because he doesn't know what else to say.

"Come on." Yuta says. If he's noticed Taeyong's hesitation, he doesn't mention it. "You're fine. The choreography is great."

"You've seen the choreo?"

The corners of Yuta's lips tug upwards. "I've watched the music video," he adds. "Just an early cut of it."

Taeyong huffs in indignation. "Doyoung won't let me see it! Says I have to wait for the final cut so I can film a reaction video for the fans." It makes sense, but Taeyong doesn't have to like it. He pouts at Yuta.

"Well, trust me when I say it's good. You look good in it too." Yuta grins. "You look good in all your videos."

"Stop it." Taeyong turns away and peels his sweaty shirt off himself to disguise the fact that he is most definitely blushing. Except now he's thinking about the fact that he's just taken his shirt off in front of Yuta and that makes him blush even more. He hurriedly tugs a fresh shirt out of his bag and yanks it on. "I didn't even know you watched my stuff."

"What kind of manager would I be if I didn't?"

Taeyong slings his bag into his shoulder. Supposes there's no point pretending he isn't going to head home with Yuta. He isn't sure how Yuta's managed to do it, convince him without convincing him. "Sounds like you're a fan," he teases, "is that why you took the job?"

"Pfft, I didn't even know what you looked like before I got the job."

Taeyong doesn't mean to gasp so loudly, but he's more affronted than he would have liked. Yuta just laughs, holds the door to the studio open for Taeyong in a low and exaggerated bow.

"I liked your music, though. I just didn't get what all the hype was about — so I binge-watched all your videos after Sicheng told me about the job. I wanted to see if you lived up to the hype." He pauses, chuckles to himself. "I also watched a bunch of fan-made compilations. My personal favourite was — what was it called? _'Lee Taeyong being a brat for five minutes straight'."_

Taeyong scowls, even as his cheeks flood with heat. "It's six minutes, actually."

Yuta beams at him. "Best six minutes of my life."

Taeyong rolls his eyes. He doesn't say anything as the lift they're in slowly descends. But then they're walking across the basement carpark, and Taeyong's climbing into the car, and something's still weighing in his mind.

He glances at Yuta, who's carefully adjusting the rearview mirror. "So, do I?" 

Yuta look at him. "Do you what?"

"You said you wanted to see what the hype was all about," Taeyong clarifies. He can feel Yuta's gaze on him. He stares stubbornly forward. "So, do I live up to the hype?"

He sees, out of the corner of his eye, Yuta smirking. "I promise you," he says slowly, "that you, Lee Taeyong, exceed all expectations."

Taeyong bites down on his cheek to suppress the grin threatening to spread across his face. "Just start the car," he snaps, but he's just teasing, he knows it and Yuta knows it too.

Yuta laughs and pulls out of the parking space. "You're also even more of a brat than all those compilation videos could have prepared me for."

"Shut up," says Taeyong. There's no bite to it.

  


 

* * *

 

  


“You’re staring.”

“Huh?”

Jungwoo quirks a sly smile at Taeyong, their eyes meeting in the mirror. “Yuta,” he says, “you’re staring at him.”

Maybe he had been. Yuta’s standing at the back of the room, talking to Sicheng, and Taeyong can see him in the mirror. But Taeyong resents the implication in Jungwoo’s tone. “Am not,” he replies huffily. “He’s in my line of sight, and I’m not allowed to look away because my pain in the ass make-up artist gets all grumpy when I fidget.”

“Sure.” Jungwoo doesn’t sound convinced. He’s also still smirking to himself like he’s just discovered a massive secret. Even though there’s no secret, absolutely no secret at all. That doesn’t stop Jungwoo. “You and Yuta seem to be getting along better these days.”

“Yes,” Taeyong says flatly. “I’m being polite. That’s what everyone wanted me to do, right?”

“Polite,” Jungwoo repeats. He taps the end of the makeup brush he’s holding against his chin in an expression of performative contemplation. “No, that’s not it.”

Taeyong scrunches up his nose at Jungwoo. “I don’t know what you’re implying,” he says, even though he knows exactly what Jungwoo is implying. The little devil. Always too nosy for his own good.

Jungwoo glances over at Yuta, who’s burst out laughing and collapsed against Sicheng as he does so. Taeyong resists the urge to scowl. Jungwoo looks back at Taeyong, amusement glinting in his eyes. “You’re just friends, then?”

“If that.” Taeyong tears his gaze away from Yuta. Why the hell does he have to get so touchy-feely with Sicheng? Annoyance bubbles up inside him. “Co-workers, more like.”

“Hmm.” Jungwoo turns to the array of make-up products laid out across the counter. “Not sure which shade of blush I should use on you today.”

Part of Taeyong wants to be thankful that Jungwoo’s changed the topic of conversation. The other half of him knows Jungwoo well enough to know that Jungwoo doesn’t give up that easily. He narrows his eyes at his make-up artists, and parts his lips to say something — he isn’t sure what yet, but _something_ to stop Jungwoo from doing whatever he’s about to do next.

Unfortunately, Taeyong hesitates for just a second too long, because Jungwoo’s suddenly straightening up and calling out across the room, “Yuta hyung! Come help me with something!”

Taeyong swats at Jungwoo’s outstretched hand that’s waving eagerly at Yuta. “Kim Jungwoo,” he hisses sharply.

“What? You’re just co-workers, right?” Jungwoo beams down at Taeyong. “Don’t get flustered.”

“I’m not flustered — hello!” Taeyong cuts himself off as Yuta appears by his side, all bright smiles and sparkling eyes and stupidly handsome face. He grimaces at his own awkwardness. This is all Jungwoo’s fault for planting weird ideas in his head.

“What’s up?” Yuta asks Jungwoo, casually resting one hand on the back of Taeyong’s chair as he does so. His fingers brush against Taeyong’s shoulder blades, and even through the material of his shirt the touch makes Taeyong tense up. 

Jungwoo holds out two blush palettes to Yuta. “Help me pick one for Yongie,” he says, perfectly innocent and earnest even though Taeyong knows better. “Which one will make him look prettier?”

Yuta looks in the mirror and catches Taeyong’s gaze. “Taeyong’s always pretty,” he says, with a playful wink.

“He is, isn’t he?” Jungwoo brings his face right up next to Yuta’s, and the two of them stare Taeyong’s reflection down. “You hear that, Yongie? Yuta hyung thinks you’re pretty.”

Taeyong can feel his ears heating up. “I heard him,” he says tightly. “Just pick a colour, would you?”

“Mm.” Yuta peers at the two proffered blush palettes. “This one. The pink one.” He points something out, and Jungwoo giggles.

“Yongie looks good in pink, doesn’t he?” Jungwoo says. Taeyong really wishes he would stop using his nickname, and stop saying it in that drippingly sweet way. Also if he could stop asking Yuta questions about how Taeyong looks, that would be great.

Yuta just smiles. “It’s cute,” he says, “makes him look like he’s blushing.”

Taeyong’s eyes widen. He can’t tell if Yuta is just being nice, or if he’s trying to make Taeyong flustered because it’s fun. Or if he’s, maybe, flirting with him?

Jungwoo hums thoughtfully, devilish glint in his eyes. “I don’t think we need make-up to make Yongie look like he’s blushing.”

“Jungwoo, I swear—”

“No,” murmurs Yuta, grinning as he turns to leave. “I don’t believe we do.”

  


 

* * *

 

  


 

The whole Yuta situation dies down over the next week or so, but that’s maybe a curse disguised as a blessing. The only reason why Taeyong doesn’t have time to think about whatever is going on with him and his feelings about Yuta is that he’s made his latest comeback, and that means he’s too physically and emotionally drained to focus on anything at all.

It’s the second week of promotions, Taeyong hasn’t had more than two hours of sleep a day since his new song was released, and before that he was surviving of barely four hours a day for nearly a month. He’s _this_ close to breaking point. His bad habit of searching his name on Naver probably doesn’t help, and he’s hours-deep into scrolling through hate comments on the internet when Yuta returns home to find him curled up on the sofa, sobbing pathetically at his phone.

“Dude, what the fuck? Are you okay?”

Taeyong sniffles and wipes at his face. “I’m fine,” he mutters feebly, even though he doesn’t feel even remotely fine. “Do you think I come across as pretentious?”

Yuta makes a face as he sits down next to Taeyong. “What? No, not at all — what are you talking about?”

“People think I seem pretentious,” Taeyong replies. He thumbs at his phone screen, scrolling down through the nasty comments like they’re a hit of a drug he can’t get enough of. 

“What are you looking at — give that to me!” Yuta snatches Taeyong’s phone out of his hands. His face darkens as he looks at the screen. “Why are you reading this?”

“Monitoring my performance?”

Yuta scoffs and chucks Taeyong’s phone across the sofa. “This isn’t monitoring, this is just wallowing.” He stands up, pulls his own phone out of his pocket. “You need a day off. I’m texting Doyoung.”

“I can’t have a day off! I have schedules tomorrow.”

“We’re cancelling them,” Yuta replies curtly, furiously tapping out a message on his phone. “They’re not big schedules, anyway. We can reschedule them.”

Taeyong tugs at Yuta’s sleeve. Yuta swats him away. “I’m fine, seriously.” He uses the sleeve of his jumper to wipe at his face. “I’ve stopped crying, look. You just caught me at a bad time.”

“You’ve been frayed at the edges for over a week now. This was just the last straw.” Yuta puts his phone down. “You’re going to get all the sleep you need tonight, and tomorrow you’re not allowed to do anything except relax.”

Taeyong doesn’t even have the energy to object. And, despite how much his work means to him, a day off sounds like the dream. He flops back into the sofa. “Doyoung’s going to come over and yell at me.”

“Doyoung can yell at me, I’m not letting you power through another day like this.” Yuta sits down next to Taeyong, and they wait. Doyoung lives in the same building, and it won’t take him long to see Yuta’s text, flip the fuck out, and come storming upstairs to tell Taeyong off.

Ten minutes later, Doyoung’s standing in Taeyong’s living room, glaring at him and Yuta both.

“What the hell is going on?” Doyoung peers around Yuta, who’s standing in front of Taeyong like a shield, and glares at Taeyong. “This better not be one of your schemes to go partying.”

Yuta makes a noise of frustration mid-way between a cough and a yell. “Does he look in any fit state to go partying?” He gestures vigorously at Taeyong.

“Hey,” Taeyong says weakly. He resents the implication he looks anything less than perfect (even though Yuta’s almost certainly right).

Both Yuta and Doyoung ignore him. Doyoung looks mildly chastened by Yuta’s words, confirming Taeyong’s assumption that he probably looks like shit. Great. He combs one hand through his hair self-consciously.

“It looks bad if we cancel schedules last minute,” Doyoung points out.

“It also looks bad if an idol passes out from exhaustion.”

“I’m not going to pass out from exhaustion.”

Doyoung eyes Taeyong and makes a face that suggests he doesn’t believe this for one second. Taeyong attempts a reassuring smile that he’s pretty sure comes out looking like a grimace.

“Look,” Yuta says hotly. He rubs his hands across his face. “you hired me to look after Taeyong. When that meant keeping him out of trouble, I did that. But now — now it means making sure he takes care of himself. And I’m going to do just that.”

Doyoung hesitates. Then he nods. “Take tomorrow off,” he says. “I’ll try and get you the weekend off too.”

“Thanks.” Yuta and Doyoung exchange a look. Taeyong waves weakly as Doyoung sighs and leaves, demanding regular text updates from Yuta. 

When he’s gone, Yuta turns back to Taeyong. “Let’s get you to bed.”

  


 

* * *

 

 

  


Taeyong’s in bed, sitting up and watching as Yuta brings him a bottle of water and sets it by his bedside table. His eyelids feel droopy, but he isn’t quite ready to go to sleep. His chest feels tight.

“Hey,” he says, quietly. Yuta turns to look at him, eyes wide with sincerity. Taeyong’s grateful for the dim light of his bedside lamp, because he’s pretty sure he’s blushing. “Um. Thank you. For getting me the day off.”

Yuta smiles, gently perches on the edge of Taeyong’s bed. “It’s my job,” he says. But his voice is thick with meaning, meaning that Taeyong can’t decipher.

Maybe it’s because Taeyong’s delirious from exhaustion. He feels faintly drunk, inhibitions lowered. His mind is a fog. “Is it just your job?”

There’s a moment of hesitation as Yuta considers him carefully. “What do you mean?”

“Taking care of me,” Taeyong says. “Being nice to me.” He pauses, gaze falling into his lap. His fingers twist in the sheets. “Flirting with me. Is that just because it’s your job?”

“Taeyong—”

This was stupid. Taeyong shakes his head. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “Shouldn’t have said that. Sorry.”

He feels Yuta’s fingers, long and slender and with the gentlest touch, brushing against his chin. Delicately guiding it up so that Taeyong’s looking at him. “Don’t be sorry,” Yuta says. He smiles, soft and warm and intimate in a way that makes Taeyong’s stomach do a little flip. “And no — it’s not just because it’s my job.”

His hand drops back into his lap, but Taeyong stays with his gaze locked on Yuta’s. 

Taeyong wishes he could blame the sleep-deprivation. But the truth is, he’s been sitting on some less than purely platonic feelings for Yuta for a while now. It’s not his fault that his manager-slash-roommate is not only unfairly good-looking, but also just an all-around lovely human being.

Whatever it is. Taeyong doesn’t quite realise what he’s doing until he’s doing it. Leaning forward, one hand sliding onto Yuta’s knee, and pressing their lips together.

For a split second, Yuta’s frozen in place, and it’s just enough time for Taeyong’s brain to start freaking out. But then Yuta’s lips are moving against his own, soft and slow like he’s testing out the waters.

Taeyong’s kissed a lot of people in his lifetime. But something about this kiss in particular — it flutters deep inside his core, and he feels like he’s going to melt into Yuta’s touch. A breathy moan escapes him, and he parts his lips, tipping his head in closer, desperate for more.

But Yuta’s hands are on his arms now, fingers lightly curled around the points of his elbows. Applying just enough pressure to coax him away. Taeyong blinks himself back to reality. The weight of what he’s just done hasn’t had time to crash into him yet.

“You should get some rest,” Yuta says.

Taeyong nods mutely. “Okay.” He feels like he should say something more, but he doesn’t know what. He sinks back into his pillows.

“Goodnight, Taeyong.”

Taeyong’s eyelids are heavy. “Goodnight,” he mumbles in reply. He doesn’t even manage to stay awake long enough to see Yuta leave the room.

  


 

* * *

 

  


The first thing that Taeyong thinks when he opens his eyes is: _wow, I actually feel well-rested._

The second thing is: _oh, fuck._

He vaguely remembers kissing Yuta, and Yuta kissing him back. And then Yuta pulling him away. And then — that’s it. Taeyong groans and buries his face under the blanket. That’s not to say it was a bad kiss. If anything, it was a great kiss, the kind that sends tingles shooting up and down your spine and all the way down to your toes. That’s a big part of the problem — that Taeyong wants to do it again.

But he can’t. Firstly, Yuta is his manager. Secondly, Yuta pushed him away — gently, sure, but pushed him away nonetheless. Thirdly, the thought of having to face Yuta again is so embarrassing Taeyong feels his insides curl in distress.

So he does what he does best. He runs away.

Taeyong gets ready as quietly as he can, and then tiptoes out into the corridor. With luck, Yuta will still be asleep, or maybe out of the house, and Taeyong can escape unseen.

No such luck, of course.

Yuta’s coming out of the guest bathroom just as Taeyong picks up his keys from the dish by the front door. Taeyong freezes when he hears the door to the bathroom open. He can feel Yuta’s gaze on him. Nonetheless, he still has half a mind to bolt out the front door without saying a word.

“Taeyong?”

Too late now. Taeyong grimaces, and turns slowly. He plasters a stupid grin on his face. “Hello,” he chirps, falsely upbeat even to his own ears. “Good morning.”

Yuta looks mildly pained. “Taeyong,” he says again, “last night—”

“Last night!” Taeyong shouts, cutting Yuta off. He clears his throat. “Last night was — it was just a stupid thing. We don’t have to talk about it.” _Please, don’t try to talk about it._

“Just a stupid thing.” Yuta repeats Taeyong’s words slowly. He tilts his head at Taeyong. His usual sunny disposition is nowhere to be seen. “Was that what that was? A mistake?”

Taeyong licks his lips nervously, and exhales sharply. “I was just — exhausted,” he says, firmly. “And sad. And you were — you were there. I shouldn’t have done anything, I’m sorry.”

Yuta quirks a half-smile. “Right,” he says. “Okay.” His eyes flick to the keys in Taeyong’s hand. “Are you going out?”

“Yes,” Taeyong says. There’s something heavy in the air, and Taeyong feels like he’s suffocating. He opens the front door and steps out. Yuta watches him go. The door slams shut between them.

  


 

* * *

 

  


“I’m sorry for bothering you so early in the morning.”

Taeil stares at him. “It’s one p.m.,” he says.

“Is it?” Taeyong grimaces. He must have needed that sleep more than he’d realised. “Thanks for letting me come over.”

Taeil sets down a mug of tea on the coffee table in front of him. “I was happy to get your call,” he says, “if a little surprised.” 

Taeyong had met Taeil when they were both trainees. Now Taeyong’s an all-singing, all-dancing popstar and Taeil’s a well-respected ballad powerhouse, and they’re both too busy to hang out with any sort of regularity. But Taeil had always been — and will always be — Taeyong’s most trusted hyung, the one he goes to when he has any sort of real problems in his life. (By contrast, he gets to see Johnny and Ten more often but they’re both even bigger disasters than he is, so they’re really not the ones to go to for advice.)

Taeyong glances around. “Are Mark and Donghyuck home?” 

Taeil shakes his head. “They had classes, but they should be back soon. Why?”

“Just checking,” he mumbles. Donghyuck is Taeil’s childhood best friend of some description, despite the six-year age difference. After all these years, Taeyong still doesn’t quite understand his and Taeil’s relationship — it’s something in between best friends, and brothers, and also in some ways Donghyuck is like Taeil’s son. In any case, Donghyuck moved in with Taeil when he came to Seoul for university, and, after a year or so, his high school boyfriend Mark joined them. It’s a weird combination of roommates, but somehow it works. A little like Taeyong and Yuta — but Taeyong doesn’t want to think about that right now.

Taeil eyes him suspiciously. “You don’t usually mind Mark and Hyuckie being around,” he says, as perceptive as ever. “Not unless you have something really personal to tell me.”

Taeyong worries at his bottom lip. “It’s about Yuta.”

“Yuta?” Taeil hums and leans forward to pick up his mug of tea. “Your new manager who you’ve been crushing on?”

Taeyong gapes at Taeil. “What? How’d you know that?”

Taeil sips at his tea and grins smugly at Taeyong over the rim of his mug. “Intelligent guess,” he says calmly. “The way you text about him — I haven’t known you for almost a decade for nothing.”

And so Taeyong sighs, sinks back into the sofa, and starts the story, from beginning to end. Taeil nods and says very little, which is maybe exactly what Taeyong needs. Someone to listen to him without judgment. (Maybe he should get a therapist. But that’s a conversation for another time.)

“And so,” Taeyong finishes up, dragging his hands down his face, “to summarise — I’m _stressed.”_

“Why are you stressed?”

Taeyong makes a strangled noise. “Why am I — did you not hear the story? I _kissed him!”_

Taeil shrugs. “Sounds like he kissed you back.”

“And then he pushed me away!”

“Only because you were an emotional wreck, by the sounds of it.”

Taeyong pouts. He doesn’t have anything to say to that. So he just blinks his big, doe eyes at Taeil, who groans and gives him a light shove. “Don’t you dare say, _‘I’m baby’,”_ Taeil warns.

Which is obviously cue for Taeyong to wail, _‘I’m baby!’_ and fling himself into Taeil’s arms. And, because Taeil has a massive soft spot for Taeyong, he just laughs and combs his fingers through Taeyong’s hair.

“Look, I know the anxious side of you doesn’t want to hear this,” Taeil says, “but it sounds to me like he has feelings for you too. And if not, that he at least likes you enough not to let this get in the way of your friendship.”

Taeyong sighs. “Maybe,” he mutters to himself, unconvinced.

Then the front door opens, and in walks Mark and Donghyuck. “Taeyong hyung!” Mark shouts, leaping onto the sofa and engulfing Taeyong in a hug. 

Donghyuck drops into the armchair opposite them. “What’s Taeyong hyung doing here?”

Taeil glances to Taeyong for permission, and Taeyong nods at him from where he’s curled up around Mark. He doesn’t mind the kids knowing. They’re good kids, and he trusts them (even if he’s pretty sure Donghyuck is the devil reincarnate).

“Taeyong’s in love with his manager,” Taeil says.

Mark pulls away from Taeyong. “You’re in love with _Doyoung?”_

“No! Not Doyoung!”

Taeil just laughs at Taeyong’s look of utter disgust. “The new one,” he clarifies, “Yuta.”

Mark looks somewhat disappointed by this. Donghyuck just nods approvingly. “He’s handsome.”

“How do you know that?”

“Instagram exists, hyung.”

Taeyong grins sheepishly. Of course. He’d done the same online-stalking exercise before meeting Yuta. He curls his legs up beneath him. “He’s nice, too.”

“Gross,” Donghyuck says, at the same time Mark coos loudly, “That is so _cute!”_

“The problem is,” Taeil elaborates, “that Taeyong’s not sure if he’s in the friendzone, so to speak.”

Donghyuck shrugs. “Easy,” he says. “Just kiss him, and you’ll know for sure.”

Taeyong colours. “I might have, um — already done that.”

Mark’s eyes widen comically large. “And?” he presses urgently. “Did he kiss you back?”

“Maybe?” Taeyong shrugs. “A little bit, but then he also pushed me away.”

“The way you described it, it was more a gentle peeling away than a push.”

Taeyong makes a face at Taeil. “Okay, then he _gently peeled me away,”_ he corrects. “In any case, I don’t think he likes me back.”

Donghyuck chuckles. “Did I ever tell you the story of how Mark and I got together, hyung?”

“Yeah, you kissed Mark at one of your high school parties, and the next day you were boyfriends” Taeyong replies. Mark’s cheeks flush pink.

“But did I ever tell you what he did, _right after_ I kissed him?”

Taeil snorts with suppressed laughter. Mark reaches around Taeyong to smack him on the shoulder. Taeyong gives Mark a weird look. “Why, what did you do?”

“I shoved him away,” Mark says, sighing. 

Donghyuck cackles, a little to gleefully for someone who had apparently been cruelly rejected by his later-boyfriend. “And it wasn’t a gentle peeling of any sort, either. He properly pushed me. And then he ran away.”

“I panicked!” Mark wails. “I thought you only kissed me because you were drunk, and I had such a big, stupid crush on you, and — oh my god, Lee Donghyuck, stop laughing!”

Donghyuck snatches his legs away from Mark’s poorly-aimed kick. “What’s the moral of this story, hyung?”

Taeyong watches as Mark gives up trying to attack Donghyuck, and just chucks a cushion at him. “People do stupid things when they’re in love?”

“True, but no.” Donghyuck catches the cushion and launches it back at Mark. “The moral of the story is this — people be fucking _wild,_ man. And you’ll never know what’s going on until you ask.”

Mark nods sagely. “That’s some poetic shit, man.”

Taeil raises an eyebrow. “Is it?”

“Huh,” Taeyong says.

  


 

* * *

 

  


 

It’s only when Taeyong gets home that he realises just how long he’s been gone. Mostly because he arrives back to Yuta sitting on the sofa, looking very much worse for the wear.

“Ah, fuck. Sorry I forgot to text you to say when I’d be back.”

Yuta leapt to his feet when Taeyong entered, stands awkwardly in the middle of the living room. He looks like he’s about to say something, but then he hesitates, purses his lips tightly. He drags his fingers through his hair.

“Yuta, look — about last night—”

But Yuta cuts him off.

“No,” Yuta says. He winces. “Sorry — I just mean, can I go first?”

Taeyong, who hadn’t been expecting this at all, nods warily. He sits down on the sofa, and Yuta sits next to him. “Is everything okay?”

Yuta nods vigorously. “Yes,” he says, then hesitates. “I mean, not really. I just — I have to tell you something.”

“Uh,” Taeyong says. “Okay.”

Yuta takes a deep inhale, then breathes out slowly. “Last night — you said we didn’t have to talk about it. But I think we do. Because — well, it might have been just a stupid thing for you. But it wasn’t for me.”

Taeyong blinks at Yuta. “What?”

“I know you were just tired and your brain was probably all over the place. And if you really didn’t mean anything by it, that’s okay too. But I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. Because—” Here, Yuta pauses. He looks at Taeyong with such intense sincerity that Taeyong thinks he might — they both might — shatter. Then he smiles, small, a little sad, but also a little hopeful. “Because I like you.”

Certainly not what Taeyong was expecting. He opens his mouth slowly, but all his words have left him. “Um,” he manages to say.

“I’m so sorry.” Yuta looks like he might cry. “I just wanted you to know. I didn’t think you’d ever feel the same way, but then you kissed me last night, and I got my hopes up, and now I’m just — god, I’m a mess.” He rubs the backs of his hands against his eye sockets. “If you want me to quit this job, I will.”

“What? No!” Taeyong regains his voice out of sheer panic that Yuta’s going to leave him. “No, oh my god — I’m the one who was freaking out. That’s why I fled the scene this morning, I thought you might be so weirded out you wouldn’t want to be around me any more.”

Yuta stares at Taeyong, eyes wide and expression completely open and vulnerable. Taeyong is overcome by an urge to lean forward and kiss him again, but no — not yet.

“I like you too,” Taeyong says. “I’m not sure I really admitted it to myself until — well, until my sleepy brain took over and kissed you. But I’m pretty sure I’ve had a stupid crush on you for a while now.”

“Oh.” Yuta’s expression slowly morphs — dejection giving way to mild, but pleasant, surprise. That familiar smile spreads across his face once more. “Right. Okay.”

Taeyong wrinkles his nose. His entire face feels like it’s on fire, and his heart is thumping so loudly in his chest he thinks Yuta might be able to hear it. “So, um — what now?”

Yuta grins. “I’d like to kiss you again,” he says.

Taeyong bites down on a giggle. “Yeah,” he mumbles, “go for it.”

  


 

* * *

 

 

  


“To another successful comeback!”

Taeyong grins at Doyoung’s toast, standing up to clink his glasses with everyone around the table. All of his favourite people are here — though it might have been a mistake introducing Johnny-and-Ten to Mark-and-Donghyuck. Taeil looks happily tipsy sitting between them, though. Jungwoo and Sicheng are quietly whispering to themselves on the other side of the large round table — Taeyong thinks they’re planning some sort of prank on Doyoung.

And, of course, there’s Yuta. Sitting right next to Taeyong, right where he belongs. He’s not so much Taeyong’s manager as his choreographer, now — as well as lead choreographer for many of the other idols in Taeyong’s company. Taeyong doesn’t really need a twenty-four seven surveillance manager anymore. He’s settled down now. (Or, in Ten’s words, _‘become a boring old lady’._ Taeyong doesn’t mind. It’s not untrue.)

But there’s one empty seat at the table. Taeyong leans across Yuta to whisper to Doyoung. “When’s your boyfriend getting here?”

Doyoung grins awkwardly. “Ah,” he mumbles, “yes — soon.”

Yuta suppresses a snort of laughter. Taeyong gives him a look. “What?”

“Nothing,” Yuta mutters, ducking his head down and focusing on his food. But Taeyong can see the smirk dancing on his lips. Doyoung glares at Yuta, and elbows him in the ribs, receiving a cry of complaint in return.

“You guys are being weird,” Taeyong says. “What the hell’s going on? Who is Doyoung’s boyfriend?”

Doyoung waves a hand in the air dismissively. “Just someone Yuta introduced to me.”

Taeyong frowns. Why is that something for them to be so weird about? “Wait, who—”

And then the door to their private dining room opens. Taeyong’s words dissolve in his mouth. 

“Sorry I’m late!” Jaehyun says brightly, grinning at everyone around the table. His eyes land on Doyoung and a smile spreads across his face. “Hi, sweetie.”

Taeyong wants to scream, but at the same time — there’s something funny about this whole situation, and he can’t help but laugh. “You have got to be kidding me.”

Jaehyun winks at Taeyong. “Hey, you,” he says, teasing and playful. Taeyong makes a face and waves Jaehyun away. Yuta looks like he might explode from suppressing his laughter. Doyoung, meanwhile, has turned the colour of a chili pepper.

“I can’t believe you kept this from me,” Taeyong hisses at Yuta.

Yuta shrugs. “They only told me a week ago,” he says. “Plus, it’s funnier this way.”

Taeyong watches as Jaehyun cackles and pokes at Doyoung’s bright red cheek. It’s pretty funny, he has to admit. So he just shakes his head, and turns back to his food. He catches Donghyuck’s eye across the table as he does so. Donghyuck just grins and shoots him two thumbs up.

People be fucking wild, Taeyong thinks. Fucking _wild._

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> this fic was entirely born out of [this picture of taeyong](https://twitter.com/notionxally/status/1141380424884772866?s=20), which mel described as taeyong looking like a "bratty little rockstar" and suddenly, 11k words later, here we are... I really enjoyed writing this 'verse and I hope you've liked reading it too! please leave kudos/comments if so :)
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/notionxally) | [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/notionxally)


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